It was tedious, however, not for Mert Heller and his men, but for the captives that had been aggressively pulled away from their homes and taken to a place they didn't know. They were stuck with people who did not understand them and one could imagine how frustrating that was. The natives were full of despair -- in fact, despair was an understatement.
A time came when they hit a storm, and the little ship felt threatened like it was going to capsize. All Mert Heller's men went below deck and left the natives above deck after describing to them what they were supposed to be doing.
What was their job? They were all tasked with packing the water that had gathered inside the ship and pouring it into the sea. Meanwhile, they were still shackled together, linked at their necks and their ankles.
Mert had ordered that their hands be freed from the back where they had been tied so that they could get to work.
"Where do you think we are going?", one of the natives asked, his voice shaking with uncertainty and fear.
"Just listen to the question you are asking me. As if I know too..." his fellow that he asked the question replied to him.
Some women began to sing -- it was a sorrowful sound but it soothed their low spirits and before long, the songs spread within the lot of them.
Both men and women sang this song in their native tongue.
Mert Heller heard from below and it irritated his ears. But, he couldn't come out at the time to shut them up because it was still raining heavily.
"Such an annoying sound!" he said as he gulped a glass of rum down like it was water. A hiss came out from his mouth between closed teeth and a clenched jaw.
So, it continued until the storm calmed and the men that had run for the shelter came up and met the captives sitting in the open air.
Some had begun to shiver, some had injuries caused by the iron collars that were on their necks and the wounds had started to look like sepsis.
It irritated Mert Heller, but he didn't care about their health. What he cared about was the fact that if he lost any of these captives, his payment would be affected.
Still, no provisions had been made for first aid or any kind of treatment. Even though there was, Mert would have hated to use their supply for these black people.
"I thought that they said they were strong?" Mert asked one of his men. "Just look at their injuries. It makes me want to puke."
"What do we do boss? So that the infection doesn't spread," the man asked Mert Heller.
"They will have to endure. When we get to Espia, anyone that survives would be treated, but if anyone dies on the ship...", Mert Heller trailed off. He already knew what he was going to do to this annoying bunch of people.
If not for the fact that his money was at stake, Mert knew how he was going to be treating them right now. They infuriated him... and he didn't know why.
They were still going to be at sea for a few weeks before they would arrive in Espia. Mert Heller didn't know how he would cope with these irritating people that he had brought on his ship.
[They stink], he thought.
Anytime he came close to them, he would cover his nose, especially since they didn't understand him, he wanted them to see him do it. At least, they would understand his actions.
Some of the captives had begun to shrink in a drastic manner as they hardly gave them anything to eat. Sometimes, when the prisoners were lucky and when Mert Heller gave the order to feed them, it would be dried-up bread that already had green molds on them or very liquid soup that had been badly cooked by the ship's cook.
At a point, the food was reduced and the rationing had to be tight and strict. During that period, Mert told them that on no occasion should the prisoners receive anything. And they went without food for days... they were given only water.
These natives were being brutally starved and it showed on them. That didn't stop Mert Heller from tasking them with jobs to do around the ship -- the washing of the filthy toilets that had been messed up by the sailors, sometimes when they were drunk, scrubbing the ship's floors, and cleaning of the deck below.
Most times, when the captives would describe to their masters that they needed to relieve themselves, they would intentionally be ignored.
Most of these grown men and women would be so pressed that they would defecate on themselves, piss on themselves, and would later be whipped for it.
One of those times, a grown prisoner had screamed back at the man who had hit him for pissing on himself; "I told you, I told you that I wanted to piss."
Mert Heller's man that didn't understand what he had yelled at him shoved the buttstock of his gun into the man's stomach.
The man spilled out puke immediately because of the force of the hit to his stomach.
He was beaten that day just because he had splashed the puke on Mert's man's clothes.
The captive lay unconscious for hours. When he came to, he couldn't move his body and was unaware that it was because some of his ribs had been broken.
The women suffered worse fates on that ship. They suffered at the hands of the filthy sailors and even at Mert Heller's hands. Most nights, screams and cries would be heard all around the ship, followed by shouts for them to be quiet from their assailants, followed by sounds of slaps and hits and maniacal laughter from the pleasure that the men got from their vile actions.
The women would return to their places with blood in their mouths and bloodshot eyes due to trauma to their heads, mouths, and eyes -- trauma to their entire bodies.
It was horror.
The captives couldn't tell what they did to deserve such a fate, and gradually, they began to give up any ounce of hope they had.